


In Which Teachable Perks are Mildly Suggestive

by hanktalkin



Series: Bites Back [2]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Kink, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 10:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16595927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: and it depends on how far down you go





	In Which Teachable Perks are Mildly Suggestive

**Author's Note:**

> Claudette POV

Loose wire, frayed nerves, cylinders that make you cough as they chug to life—you spit, trying to get the taste of motor oil out of your mouth. Across from you, Laurie doesn’t deviate, barely twitches as you choke louder than any backfire. Here you are barely breathing while she navigates the Nightmare like it was made for her; solid Teflon, a diamond in a Mohs scale while the rest of you stutter through burned coals.

Her eyes briefly flick up to yours as you grab the splintering wire again—not judgment nor disappointment, but like she’s tapping her fuel gauge and seeing enough if she can make to the next station.

You miss Meg. Not that Laurie is unkind, or difficult to work with. But you miss Meg.

A crow caws as the generator creaks, back to work, back cooperation. Your misstep is overlooked, no consequences to speak of.

~~Haha.~~

He tears around the corner, cleaver clanging where Laurie had been a moment before. It’s one second to the next, the way things can change from ~~quiet~~ anxious trepidation to scrambling backwards on your ass as the Trapper turns his empty eyeholes to you. Your stilted crabwalk drops a knee to the ground, one hip over, turns into a four-legged sprint as you rise and break for the door.

Laurie rams a gurney into his legs, a brief and blessed distraction. You run. And it comes to your mind that slithering, awful, ~~selfish~~ thought that’s run through your head so often now that you can’t really call yourself a good person anymore: _let it be her. Please god let it be her and not me._

Your shoes slap across the hospital floor, your terror too loud in your ears to tell if he’s chasing or not, and you don’t look back. There’s only two options. One or the other. Seeing won’t change that. At least that’s what you tell yourself, justifying what you can in the face of your on impeding cowardice _not me not me please not me_

It takes will. Forcing your neck vertebra by vertebra to cock your head over your shoulder-

In time for your foot to plunge into an awaiting trap.

A howl rips itself free, and if he wasn’t looking for you before, he will be soon. Your scream is gasping, irrepressible from both pain and the sheer shock of metal teeth clamping on bone. The white-hot agony is too much to suppress your second wail, even as you mind catches up with your captured, entangled body.

Your hands, ~~stupid, clumsy hands,~~ made for measuring and pouring not forcing open the jaws of life on a contraption with its lone safety release jerry-rigged off. The muscles in your arms burn as you pry, helpless, every inch a mile when your palms slip with blood.

Peel and look, peel and look, searching for any visual as your heart beats out of your chest constricting the muscles in your throat like you’re swallowing a bitter pill. You can sense him now, his chase abandoned as you wait here, lamb to the slaughter, easily picked off unless these last few inches-

You yank. Your shoe doesn’t make it out. Your arms shake from the effort of holding it open, each moment you don’t get out threatening to slam it closed again and restart the whole agonized cycle-

You yank again. It cuts your ankle, and your shoe comes off, but you’re free as you sense him less than room away and you _run_.

~~Limp. Your leg is broken or worse, fractured maybe. You leave streaks of blood on the walls as you hobble past slates of blank white.~~

The panic makes you do these things. The screams you can’t control, the needles stabbed in the wrong place even when you’re just trying to help—you feel like you’re always bring about your own end, another day another night not making it back to the fire. Not seeing the others, not seeing-

The Trapper’s almost on you. He tracks you easily; and it’s either move or don’t, be seen or be caught, both the same end as you round a corner-

An arm constricts around your chest.

You scream as you’re pulled to the side, but a hand clamps down over your mouth, muffling it into nothing. Your brain clatters like a door in the wind because you can still hear the danger behind you and now the arms that hold you down register too as everything compounds and a wet sob escapes your nose.

But.

Slow, your senses come, and the hand over your face smells like green shoots and gasoline. You’re not dead or off your feet, just held to the warmth of a chest as your back presses flush against the wall—a turn, just the gentle angle of the chin, and you can see Jake’s profile hovering above you.

His eyes are locked, down the hall you just came, the place he ripped you from. There’s shuffling—distinctive, ~~inevitable~~ shuffling.

Every nerve in his body is tense, those eyebrows furrowing over august features, jaw set withconviction. A small whimper escapes you, reverberations of your shattered leg rising up into chest; the Trapper steps closer.

“Bite down,” he whispers. A command—solid, indisputable.

“Mm?”

He shoves his hand more forcefully around your mouth. Hesitation can kill you. It often has. So you bite.

Teeth sink into the soft flesh between his thumb and forefinger, your jaw locking as you devote every ounce of concentration to biting as hard as you can. Not about your body, not about the killer turning the corner and swinging his head; how if he just peels into the room Jake dragged you into there’s no way out. Not about the way Jake’s other hand grips your chest, and how that feels so much better than it should.

Above you, Jake inhales, the only sound as the two of you lay flat, still even as he gets so close-

He turns suddenly and storms into the opposite room.

You exhale, as Jake’s hand leaves your face. It felt like hours what must have only been minutes, and you feel strangely woozy standing on your own. So you lean, slightly on him and slightly on the wall, and feel a heaviness about your mouth. A stray fingertip reaching upwards reveals it to be wet.

You catch sight of his hand, coated in blood, and mutter a soft, “sorry.”

He looks down, as though it barely interests him. You wonder what you must look like, the bottom half of your face completely coated like a frenzied vampire with her last meal dripping down her chin. A pathetic girl who can’t keep the tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

He looks at you like you’re none of that. And you look back, really look at him, that determination that you wish you could grab and hold on to. His hand is resting at your neck and you wonder when it got there; slightly sticky, slight to the touch, so gentle, like he’s afraid you might slip away.

The two of you stand, precious seconds or maybe it was hours, the passage of time fogged in pain and _him_.

The only thing that brings you to is when Jake twitches, and looks to your side. You follow his gaze to see Laurie watching you: thoroughly unimpressed.

The spell broken, you jerk, the sudden pain drawing you sharply into reality. Jake’s a step back from you now, and Laurie is turning, ~~you swear there’s a roll in here eyes~~ , so you know there’s nothing to do but follow her out. Jake trails, the three of you to hopefully find another generator. But a grip still sinks into your heart, invisible fingers digger over your left ribcage.

 


End file.
